Here is the strange tale of The Light Princess and Spellbound Theatre Ensemble, a theatre company that almost was:
Last year we got together and made a play with puppets and fairytales for a festival on campus. Then everyone graduated (except draggers-on like me) and we decided to form a regular ensemble to keep adapting the story we had been playing with and possibly begin working on others. We came up with a name for our ensemble and we tried to meet regularly, and almost succeeded in at least hanging out once a week if not actually rehearsing.
The last month and a half we decided that we needed a firm performance date to light a fire under our butts, so we put in a permit to perform in a local park, storytelling under a tree in the summer, doesn't that sound delightful? Well, apparently it doesn't because our permit got denied and, right in the middle of the growing pains of the rehearsals (that time when nothing is going right and everyone is mad at each other), we got news that not only did we not have a performance space, but our title character's actor was leaving unexpectedly due to family stuff.
So, with a week left before everyone took off for the summer, we scrambled and lined up a performance at a retirement home in my neighborhood and began rehearsing in earnest, even bringing in another ensemble member to literally pick up the slack (of the puppets). We worked our little tails off and then, on Saturday, we had a mini-open-dress in my backyard.
We have been rehearsing in the backyard because it is the largest private space that any of us have access to for free. It turned out to be a really lovely little performance space (although seating capacity was six plus cats). It has led to some interesting disputes, though, about whether we can consider ourselves any sort of company in a professional sense of the word. We all work professionally as teaching artists or arts administrators, and we have a very high standard for what "professional" means, and it usually doesn't mean putting on plays in the backyard. On the other hand, community-based artists have to practice their art where ever they can, and the only difference between a company that performs in bookstores, libraries, parks, and senior centers and a "professional" company might be the "professionals" have a lot more money than we do and I don't want to apologize for not having a lot of money. Of course, it all comes down to the standard of the work that is being performed, and even though I know we weren't the most amazing puppet show ever this weekend, I do think that we are on the right track, but you get out what you put in, if you know what I mean. And by that I mean you fake it till you make it. Meaning, we can work harder and do better and even if we only meet once a week and have a show budget of $100, we can still be professional.
The seniors LOVED the show. They applauded and cheered and, much like a youth audience, had no problem whatsoever loudly giving their opinion of the show in the middle of the show. One woman told me repeatedly that "it was the most beautifully arranged bunch of nothing I've ever seen!" I decided to take that as a compliment.
In our quest to be more professional (but not actually because we are all professionals at other things that take up a lot of our time so actually just as professional as we can be with one day a week), we have decided to apply for non-profit status and try to get a grant or sponsor to get us a couple hundred dollars for an actual rehearsal space. We'll see how it goes. We're also losing two more ensemble members to moving/other jobs, so we'll have to have auditions, too. Most importantly, we realized that we need to have someone in charge of producing, if not directing, future shows. Putting on a play is hard work. Someone has to do the fliers and bookings and communications, and it looks like that is probably going to be me. Which is good. Because I'm a nerd.
Special thanks to ipj and mns for coming to the mini-open-dress. Maybe they can give their perspective on the professionalism of backyard puppet shows.
Highlights of My Week In the Mountains:
